


The Revolution Will Not Need Pants

by terribad



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Breastfeeding, Diapers, F/M, Fetish, Humiliation, Infantilism, Multi, Situational Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:30:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terribad/pseuds/terribad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Korra finds herself in a very special situation with a very special prisoner deep in the belly of Amon's subterranean lair.  Dedicated to and requested by Spockandawe on Tumblr. <3  Amorralok/Korrlok/Weird Stuff, sort of a spiritual successor to 'No Stops.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Revolution Will Not Need Pants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spockandawe](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=spockandawe).



When Korra plunged deep into the Equalist underground, she wasn't sure what she was expecting to find.  Deadly machinery, dangerous bombs, swarms of chi blockers... but a nursery?  It certainly stuck out amid the grey, industrial corridors that ran through the place, especially after all the doors she had to blow open to get to it in the first place.  A number of horrific thoughts had flown through her mind at the discovery -- Amon had reproduced, or kidnapped someone's child, or worse -- but there was something entirely bizarre about the room that she couldn't quite place her finger on. Perhaps it was the oversized crib that looked like it could house an adult, or the enormous package of diapers sitting on a table nearby.

She takes off her mask to get a better look around, carefully approaching the crib where she is almost certain that it's occupied...

The sliding metal door slams loudly shut behind her and a familiar, unamused voice growls just over her shoulder.  "I wouldn't wake the baby if I were you, Avatar Korra."

She freezes, not wanting to turn her head to acknowledge Amon.  Had he been following her the entire time?  He had to have been.  Her mouth is dry, she swallows nervously as the Equalist leader strides past her, hands behind his back as he makes his way to the crib to reach in and check on the infant before-- wait.  That's definitely no baby she's seeing, now that her vision isn't so restricted by the Equalist mask--

"Is... is that Councilman Tarrlok?" 

Amon holds a finger to the lips of his mask and lets out a quiet 'shhhh,' "We just got home from a long trip.  He's _very_ tired, as you can guess."  Tarrlok begins to stir, and she notices his clothes are the same despite his surroundings.  "He had a little accident on the way back," Amon continues, flipping a switch on the side of the crib so that one of its walls dropped.  "I hadn't gotten around to taking care of that yet.  But since you're here, maybe you can help me with that, _Avatar_."

Korra nervously squints her eyes, her lips tightening at the sight of a drying stain on the inseam of Tarrlok's loose trousers. Although he's asleep, the expression on his face seems rather upset, a frown etched on his features as his chest rises and falls with each breath. “W-what are you going to do with him?”

“Give him a fresh change of clothes, of course,” Amon replies, motioning towards a nearby dresser as he starts to undo the ties on Tarrlok's clothing, throwing each piece gingerly into a hamper. “Go pick something out for him. Make sure it's _cute._ ”

Korra obliges, unsure if she should be horrified, confused, or both. She definitely didn't expect to hear Amon put any emphasis at all on the word 'cute,' nor the fact that this oversized nursery even existed deep within the compound in the first place. Why would anyone even _have_ a freaky baby dungeon room in the first place?

She carefully goes through the drawers, looking for something that could give Tarrlok at least a tiny sliver of dignity – which was difficult, given the abundance of pastel shades of pink and blue and childlike styles she had found. Again, she finds herself wondering why Amon even had this set up, unless this was a sort of thing he regularly did to his prisoners or if he had this specifically set up as part of a weird scenario to capture Tarrlok or what – and trying to quash those thoughts, terrible and bewildering as they are, before settling on a powder blue onesie with 'BABY BOY' printed across the front. It was still pretty bad, but by far the least offensive option of the rest of the several-sizes-too-large clothing options within.

“W-what about this one? It's kinda cute, and matches his eyes...” Korra holds the onesie up to Amon, trying to hide behind it (and disturbed by the fact that it's big enough for her to hide behind in the first place). He turns, stroking the chin of his mask to consider her choice.

“I suppose that will do. Bring it here,” he beckons, and she approaches the crib with Tarrlok now mostly naked save for his stained undershorts. Amon shakes his head and tsks with barely-audible disgust once Korra is close enough to see it for herself. “You know he used to wet the bed until he was twelve,” he remarks, and it catches Korra off guard. How did he even _know_ this? “You'd think he would have outgrown it by now. But I suppose that's what I'm here for...”

He hooks his fingers into Tarrlok's waistband and pulls down, and Korra quickly averts her eyes before she sees something she would have otherwise never been able to scrub from her brain for decades. Amon notices this, and after throwing Tarrlok's shorts into the basket he grabs for a diaper from the nearby table and clears his throat. “Help me lift him up.”

“Wha...?” Korra turns her head, trying to look only at Amon and nothing below. “Lift him up? No way, I'm not touching him!”

Amon holds the diaper up to where she can clearly see it, his eyes narrowing behind the mask. “He's a grown man, Korra. ...For now. I could use the extra muscle while I put this diaper on him.”

“Can't you do it yourself?” Korra shoots back, offended at the idea of even helping Amon enact this – whatever this is, fantasy, punishment – either way, the idea of this entire scenario was jarringly uncomfortable to her, but all it takes to get her to comply is a few strained moments of his glare burning right into her until she does so. Grimacing, she wedges a hand beneath Tarrlok's bottom and begins to lift, which unfortunately causes him to finally stir awake.

“What a shame,” Amon sighs, sliding the diaper beneath Tarrlok as Korra is frozen in place and staring in horror at his bleary face until Amon gently slaps her hand away. “You woke the baby up.”

“U-um, Amon? Did anyone ever tell you that keeping a giant secret nursery dungeon in your secret Equalist dungeon is really, _really_ weird? And so is this– whatever it is you're doing to Tarrlok?” Korra pleadingly looks at Amon for an answer, wishing that for once he'd remove his damn mask and maybe appear to be less of a creep as he's diapering and covering a grown man in baby powder for no apparent reason. “I know he's a jerk and all, but – I dunno – you could have just debended him and thrown him in a box, right?”

“Why, Avatar Korra, that's not fun at all! Show a little creativity for once. A man like Tarrlok ought to be adequately pampered, don't you agree?” Tarrlok is heard groaning in the background, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as Amon tapes the diaper snugly around his waist. Korra only shakes her head, her eyes locked on the masked man with no answer to give him. Resting a hand on Tarrlok's knee, Amon turns to face Korra fully. “Or are you not a fan of children?”

“...Avatar Korra?” Tarrlok's voice is hoarse; evidently he had been out for a while and is still regaining his senses. He slowly sits up, clutching his head and examining his surroundings with a sleepy look on his face – but that moment of complacency is ruined when he realizes Amon is there.

Amon... and Korra? Working together, or is he holding her captive somehow? The dull, roaring instinct of 'But I saw her first!' wells up to the fore of his mind, blind disgust and jealousy directed at Amon for daring to hold her sway to him. Of course, in a panic, the first thing he does is assume a slipshod semblance of a bloodbending stance directed at the masked man, only to find that he'd effectively been de-fanged... his hands held uselessly in the air as Amon is quite obviously unaffected.

Tarrlok knew _that_ was likely to have happened, but... he couldn't explain the _rest_ of what he was seeing, much less the ludicrously thick diaper he was currently wearing.

\--Wait, what?

His expression goes from angry, to confused, to angry again before finally settling on a mixture of shocked and furious, all tinged with a deeply embarrassed red as he attempts to formulate a response to this entire nightmare of a situation. And with Korra around, he found himself even more perplexed at what to say without telling too much.

Korra's equally confused (if somewhat apologetic) face, at least, was a small consolation to him. That alone told him she wasn't necessarily in on this, but still along for the ride nonetheless. He should have known Amon, Noatak, whatever – was probably planning this all along as the greatest, worst brotherly prank to go down in history as a testament to the man's truly sadistic nature – albeit an oddly specific one, almost specially tailored to embarrass his little brother in the most fantastically deviant of ways.

“You should dress him up,” Amon offers the onesie Korra had picked earlier to her, breaking the silence before Tarrlok can even get a word in. “He's rather indecent right now, and we can't lug around a naked child, can we?”

Tarrlok's hands droop uselessly to his sides as Korra takes the onesie and turns to him, biting her lip as he stares at her like a lost puppy. Why, oh spirits, why did she have to be here, too? And worst of all, why did he find Korra's involvement in this so hot? He's conflicted – to act obstinate and resistant like a normal adult would in this situation, or to shut off his brain and allow Korra to do with him as she pleases (or at Amon's command, apparently)? He gives her an uneasy smile as he meekly raises his arms for her to pull the garment over his head and roughly tug it down the rest of his body before clumsily fastening the snaps at the bottom.

Korra can't help but to run her hand over the soft fabric in wonderment at how tightly it conformed to Tarrlok's body, catching herself at the last second and yanking her hand away with a blush. This was all very bizarre, but she had to admit that Tarrlok looked rather cute in his new getup – she liked him better this way, harmless and compliant.

“He's missing something,” Amon prompts Korra, gesturing towards his little brother. Tarrlok's lip juts in a curious, wonderful pout, and Korra suppresses the urge to go 'aww!' at him.

“A bib?” Korra rubs her chin, studying him as her eyes linger on his jutting lip with a brilliant smile. “– No, a bottle! He's gotta be hungry after that trip from the mountains, right?”

“You're right,” Amon nods, “But unfortunately I don't have any on hand right now. Perhaps you could lend a growing boy your more... natural assets, as any good mother should.” The blush on Tarrlok's face deepened, as did Korra's.

“W-whoa, hold on,” she stammers, holding up her palms. “That's going a little too far, isn't it?”

Amon steeples his fingers. “Why not? Would you really say no to such a darling face? He obviously wants it, just look at him,” he purrs, and Tarrlok bashfully turns his head away as Amon ties a terrycloth bib embroidered with a blue rattle around his neck before patting his head. “Don't you, baby brother?”

“– 'Baby brother'?” Korra can't deal with this whiplash right now. For as much as she likes to tell people to deal with it, this is one such time where she simply, utterly, cannot deal with what is happening right now. There is only confusion, inexplicable arousal, and a grown man wearing a diaper and an oversized onesie sitting in an equally oversized crib at the behest of a masked asshole who just called him his brother. “This is too weird. I'm leaving.”

“Don't leave!” Tarrlok pleads, clasping his hands together and looking up at her. “I, um, I still need to be taken care of...”

“That's right, he does,” Amon echoes, stiffly patting Korra on the shoulder. Her skin crawls at his touch, edging closer to Tarrlok out of some misbegotten urge to find company in lunacy. “Why don't you bring him to that rocking chair over there to nurse? You're a strong girl, you look like you can do it. If I could carry him, so can you.”

Korra takes one look at Amon, then to Tarrlok, and back to Amon again. “You're serious?”

“As serious as an Avatar who's about to lose her bending if she doesn't take care of the baby,” he deadpans.

“Fine, I'll carry him.” Korra only makes a face and slips an arm under Tarrlok's legs, the other cradling his back. With a grunt, she almost loses her balance as she hefts him out of the crib and leans him awkwardly against her chest, his wiry arms clinging desperately around her shoulders as though he were equally fearful that she was going to drop him.

Sure, Korra is strong – but having to lift someone who is undoubtedly twice her size and stumble across the room with him is no easy task. After blindly trekking to the chair (and maybe accidentally bumping Tarrlok's head into furniture on the way), she plops down with a loud exhale and lets Tarrlok settle into her lap as he sighs with relief. She's surprised he hasn't made any comments about the knocks on the way, but figures it can't hurt to start fumbling with the zipper on her Equalist uniform and stuff him with a mouthful of boob before he can.

Tarrlok is, of course, mystified as he watches her unzip her top, her breasts practically spilling out in front of his face in a way that would be totally undignifying had he been more high-strung. And while he does try not to look too interested for the sake of being a gentleman, the way Korra gently rubs his back and guides his head towards her throws all that out the window. He looks at her with uncertainty, giving her an uneasy smile as she nods at him.

“Eat up, uh... little guy.”

She can't believe she's doing this. She can't believe _Amon_ is making her do this. Was he watching them? Glancing up from Tarrlok, she sees him still standing by the crib, stoic as ever, his arms folded behind his back as he stares at them, unblinking and unmoving.

Perhaps it's better to go back to looking at Tarrlok, still staring dumbfoundedly at her nipple and locked in some kind of internal debate over whether or not he should really partake before finally giving in and gently, carefully mouthing her dark areola. It's a strange sensation to be sure, albeit one that could be even pleasant in less unusual circumstances. Tarrlok's eyes also dart nervously toward Amon before refocusing on Korra, cuddling closer to her as he begins to suckle in earnest.

It's when she and Tarrlok both start to relax, when the hand that's not holding him up reaches over to caress and intertwine with his after a few calm moments, that anything is heard coming from Amon's direction. A raspy, sudden eruption that could be construed as a snicker from behind that mask which leads into loud, hideous, braying from the man as he clutches his sides and hunches over into a fit of laughter neither of them would have ever expected to come from him.

Korra feels Tarrlok's lips stop, and they both glare at the shuddering, hysterical heap of dark red on the floor. “What's so funny?” Korra sneers, protectively holding Tarrlok close to her as though he actually were her own child.

Amon takes what is probably a solid minute to regain his composure, clearing his throat and straightening up as he adjusts his hood. “Nothing at all, Avatar. Now, as for you, Tarrlok...” He lets a snort escape his throat. “I didn't think you were _actually_ into that kinda stuff. The more things change, the more they stay the same, eh brother?”

Tarrlok gives Amon the middle finger. “You're a piece of shit, Noatak.”

And he goes right back to defiantly sucking on Korra's tit.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sorry you had to read this.


End file.
